Last Summer

We play dumb, but we know exactly what we’re doing. - New Romantics

The yearly trip to Sarang Pura was compulsory as long as both their grandmothers stayed there. Sarang Pura was a small village near Sanganer, their native place, where the Punwars and Sisodiyas shared a farmhouse when their fathers were young. Their grandfathers had started the textile business there, in a tiny room in the property they had inherited and with time, the farm had been expanded, and now two bungalows stood side by side, attached by their roofs, with orchards, gardens, stables, kennels, and small farms surrounding them. There were greenhouses and glass canopies with bougainvillaea and a library on the premises.  About a minute’s walk from the house was the highway leading to the small village of Sarang Pura, and the factory was a fifteen-minute drive. Both their grandmothers stayed on the property, as the city air didn’t suit them well. It meant that every year during the summer vacations, the Punwars and Sisodiyas visited the Sarang Pura farmhouse, the men invigilated the factory, the women spent time with their in-laws, and the children especially had a gala time, cycling around, skipping pebbles on the pond, exploring the gardens and orchards, and even visiting the animals. Something that brought them closer to their roots and was missing in their city lives. Both Hansa and Jaivanta believed it was important that the children stayed grounded despite their otherwise protected and privileged lives. As much as Shakti and Ajabdeh looked forward to the visits, Heer couldn’t adapt much to their idea of fun, which was something as simple as tying a tyre to a tree trunk and swinging on it all afternoon, while Pratap was always overly attentive because he was sure either they would get into trouble or hurt themselves. After every summer vacation, poor Pratap felt more exhausted and happier to be back home. That year, the visit was a bit different for a lot of reasons. 

Their grandmothers never discriminated between the children, and most of their childhood was about looking forward to Ajabdeh’s grandmother, Padma Devi’s handmade treats, the Achars and chips that were made at home, and the tamarinds and mangoes fresh from the orchard. Pratap’s grandmother, Karnawati Devi, had storytelling duties, and Shakti and Heer, being the impatient children, Pratap and Ajabdeh were always the ones who listened attentively from beginning to end. That summer, after school ended, when they reached the palace, in separate cars, Ajabdeh was not as excited to be home as she always was. First, Pratap was being odd around her, and she was afraid that being in close quarters through the summer would make the parents see and question it. What would she tell them? Secondly, Karvawati was seriously ill, and the parents looked worried. To tell the truth, Pratap was more attached to the Punwar Grandmother, while Ajabdeh was to his. One look at her face while they got out of the car, being welcomed by Parvat Das, the manager of the estate, he knew she was worried. Pratap looked away as Parvat Das got excited, explaining the newly implanted self-watering devices in the garden and lawn. Right in between his exhibition of how it worked like magic, making the amused children smile at his innocence, Shakti was standing right in the middle of the lawn, kneeling before one of the sprinklers, observing it keenly as he had never seen one back in the city when Parvat Das had told the gardener to switch them on. The water hit Shakti as he stumbled back, and the others laughed.

“Idiot!” Pratap said in between his teeth as he shook his head with a chuckle, and his eyes fell on Ajabdeh, who suddenly removed her sneakers and ran right through the water sprinklers to Shakti to help him get up and enjoy the water with her. A smile formed on Pratap’s face as he watched the embarrassment leave Shakti’s face the moment Ajabdeh joined him.

“They are mad, the sun is too much. I am going inside.” Heer murmured from his side before leaving him alone with Shakti and Ajabdeh’s discarded backpacks on the garden path while they ran in the lawn, barefoot amidst the sprinklers. Ajabdeh’s laughter rang through the otherwise quiet afternoon as she ducked out of Shakti’s reach, making him stumble once again on the grass. Almost in a reflex, she stared back at Pratap, smiling, and her face gave away the relief she felt seeing him smile. Eyes met, and immediately Pratap stopped smiling as he addressed his brother about catching a cold with narrowed brows. Ajabdeh stopped and helped Shakti up, agreeing in murmurs that they better get inside, and Parvat Das immediately ran to stop the sprinklers. The breeze that blew gently was warm, but their wet clothes made them shiver a little as Shakti ran to pick up his backpack, and Ajabdeh followed. It was then that she noticed that her white t-shirt was wet and almost transparent, and it was a bad idea. She had again done something without thinking about it. She was suddenly aware of the people around, who were otherwise invisible to them, the gardener, the maids, the servants and attendants, guards and manager. Her hands came up involuntarily close to her bosom, as Pratap picked up her backpack and handed it over almost discreetly, as if he understood her thought. She grabbed the backpack carefully, avoiding touch, as eyes met, and she expected his eyes to be annoyed. 

Pratap stared back at her, the droplets of water running down her long locks to her cheeks and droplets perched on her lips where the gloss shone. Her eyes were drawn carefully with Kohl, which now appeared a bit smudged, making them appear bigger than they were. She inhaled, perhaps because she felt cold, and her lips trembled slightly. Pratap’s eyes travelled with the water droplets trickling down the plunge of her neck and stopped to notice how the wet t-shirt clung to her body, appearing semi-transparent and making the outlines of her bra almost visible to the naked eye. He immediately held the backpack up further against her chest as if to protect her from onlookers. Her eyes lowered as if she understood what he was thinking, and she murmured thanks before stepping back and walking away. Pratap watched her go and let out a sigh as if he was holding his breath for too long before following her, keeping a distance from her, into the house.

The next time they saw each other was at the lunch table, where the grandmothers filled in the parents with what was happening in Sarang Pura while they did the same about the children, their academics and their achievements. Ajabdeh carefully avoided looking at him, which was not very difficult, especially with the grandmothers’ stories, while Pratap concentrated on his plate. Karnawati Devi invited the children to the library after lunch for some afternoon stories, and they were excited as Ajabdeh eyed Pratap slightly. Now that he was aware of what she felt and perhaps could read her better, and now that he no longer brought Samaira along for the trip, as he had for the past two years, it meant going back to doing everything together. But things were different back then, when he was unaware of her feelings, and she was sure he never noticed her, even when she was in the same room. Things were now… awkwardly different. Especially when she knew their siblings would, at some point in time, leave them alone to finish the story with Karvawati Devi. Pratap suddenly got up from the dining table, excusing himself, saying that he needed to urgently call Jalal. Ajabdeh frowned. Rukaiya had told her that their families were visiting Lucknow to sell off some of her father’s properties and that they would be busy. 

Pratap walked into his room briskly, making a noise as he closed the door, and dialled Jalal. But the moment Jalal’s cheerful voice answered, he was at a loss for words. He couldn’t possibly tell Jalal anything he felt. Especially when Jalal was not so tight-lipped and was now a friend of Ajabdeh. He would never understand Pratap’s practical dilemmas when it came to … love. Pratap grunted involuntarily at the word escaping his thought. He suddenly remembered a day when the gang at school was teasing Jalal. Was it possible that he liked Ajabdeh? If so, he probably deserved her more, given how he was always there for her when all he had done was hurt her intentionally every time. Samaira was probably right about him being selfish. He didn’t deserve her, so there was no question of complicating things, right? Jalal shared news of Lucknow while his thoughts ran, and Pratap finally cut him short, saying he had to go. Jalal frowned, aware of the fact that Pratap never said why he called. Pratap sat down on his bed, deciding that all he had to do was keep his feelings in check and not let her read him. That would be easy, she did it all the time, right? He never felt so conscious around her as he did now, since he had learnt of his feelings and feared that she could see them. Or worse, question him. He let himself imagine the idea of them being friends. Things wouldn't be awkward anymore, and perhaps knowing her better would make him realise that she isn't after all that he imagined her to be in his head, and the liking would reduce. But how would he even approach the idea to see if it worked at all? 

The story session went better than expected as neither of them lifted their head to see the other as Karvawati read, although they sat side by side on the carpet, and Pratap could smell her perfume hitting his nostrils. Karnawati stopped before the last paragraph and coughed. She looked tired, and before Pratap could react, Ajabdeh got up and held a glass of water to her lips, making her smile.

“Bless you, my child,” Karnawati murmured. Those were the last words she spoke. After drinking the water, she complained of chest pain, and Pratap rushed Shakti to call the parents before she fainted in his arms. He looked up to see Ajabdeh frozen to her spot, with the empty glass trembling in her hand, while Heer sobbed. The doctors came, and then the ambulance took her away. Pratap was left in charge of the house, and he checked on Heer sleeping close to her grandmother, hugging her while she patted her grandchild. Shakti strolled the rooftop before he walked across to find Ajabdeh missing from her room. He almost panicked. Throughout the process, he had seen her trembling, quieter than usual, and he wanted to reach out and comfort her and was almost annoyed that Shakti didn’t. Now, where could she be so late at night? The telephone rang, and he rushed to pick it up. He eyed everyone immediately gathering around him, the staff and family, as all he could manage was a “hmm” before putting the receiver down and shaking his head. Heer and Padma Devi sobbed as Shakti stood by them quietly. He had seen Ajabdeh at the threshold of the room a little while ago when the phone rang, reassuring a part of him that she was in the house, while now she was again not to be seen anywhere. It suddenly struck Pratap. He knew where she was.  

Pratap had tiptoed into the library to find it empty. Frowning a little at his wrong assumption, he looked around carefully. The silence was too loud around him, so he turned to leave when he heard a soft sob. Pratap glanced over his shoulder at the bookshelf from behind which the sound came. He tiptoed carefully to the space between the wall and the bookshelf, which was like a small corridor for the servants to pass by without disturbing their masters. When he found her on the floor, her back against the wall, hugging her knees, her head buried in her lap, sobbing. The book they were reading lay open to its last page beside her. Pratap suddenly felt at a loss for words, but he couldn’t walk away. He cleared his throat, making her look up at him for a moment before she wiped her tears and composed herself, hugging her knees tighter. He sat down silently beside her, with an inch of distance between them as he folded his knees, holding them with his hands before glancing at her.

“Are you okay?” he managed as she nodded.

“Is it my fault that…” She fumbled as he shook his head firmly.

“No. It is not, you just gave her a glass of…”

“And that was when…” Ajabdeh stopped as Pratap turned to face her. 

“It was supposed to happen. Nobody stays forever.” She looked up at his words, a teardrop shining on her cheeks. “Don’t blame yourself, please.” He reassured her, with concern in his voice, “We have to be strong for our parents and…”

“Everyone leaves.” Pratap stopped as Ajabdeh hid her face and sobbed again. Almost in a protective reflex, Pratap gently put his arm around her shoulder from the side, and she immediately rested her head on his shoulder and sobbed. Pratap was suddenly no longer awkward about the closeness as he tried to comfort her. 

“Be strong, Ajabdeh.” His words made her move away, a little aware as she wiped her tears, murmuring an apology with a sigh. 

“I will tell you what… we will read here all summer. How about that? One day I will read, and the next day you can. I am sure she kept the books she wanted to read to us separately, like she used to. That way, we can honour her. Perhaps feel close to her?” His words made her nod silently. Pratap stared at her unsure face. In some odd way, this was his chance to spend time with her without making it awkward. In some odd ways, he wanted them to be at least friends and that way, she would be in his life forever. It was some sort of poetic justice Pratap sought from the situation. Ajabdeh, in turn, wondered if he said what he said to calm her down and not mean it. He never wanted anything to do with her, so why would he plan something for them? She was sure he wouldn’t follow through. But he did. Every afternoon for the entire summer, they sat reading, exchanging ideas and smiling over good stories. Ajabdeh realised that, unlike her imagination, Pratap did enjoy reading and often had profound, deep thoughts and perspectives she didn’t expect of him. He shared how orphans remind him of Oliver Twist, and he wants to help them. That was the first book he read that moved him. Pratap learnt that behind her geeky demeanour and heart for the right issues, there was a girl who was a dreamer. And those dreams made her quite like girls her age. She gushed about fictional men, refused to see their red flags and smiled involuntarily at romantic scenes in books. The books Karnawati had left for them were over in ten days, and it was Pratap who suggested they read more from the library. He was quite comfortable now with the idea of them sharing a cordial friendship before he left for college with Jalal. Ajabdeh seemed accepting of the idea as well. Tragedies strangely brought people together, and their friendship blossomed through the summer. Little did they know it was their last vacation together at Sarang Pura. Things would change, for the worse?